Missing Pieces
by CaroH
Summary: A series of missing scenes from the episodes.
1. Chapter 1

I have been suffering from major writer's block when it comes to my two longer stories so I thought I would go back and write some missing scenes to see if that will cure the problem. This one is set in episode 1.1 and is unashamedly Athos centric.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter One**

"I'm not the man you're looking for." Athos turned away from d'Artagnan and marched out of the garrison flanked by two Red Guards and followed by Treville and a third guard. He was relieved that the Captain had chosen to accompany them. It wasn't often that the Red Guard had a Musketeer in their clutches and he had no doubt they would have taken the opportunity to inflict some damage if not for Treville's presence.

As they traversed the streets he tuned out the curious stares of the townsfolk and reflected upon the bizarre turn the day had taken. First there was the disappearance of Cornet and his troop. Under any circumstances that was deeply concerning. Next was the precipitous arrival of the young Gascon, d'Artagnan. At first Athos had treated his challenge as an unwelcome joke. That was until he faced the raw talent in the boy. That talent had been somewhat compromised by heightened emotions. Still, that was understandable if his father had recently been murdered. Despite that d'Artagnan had shown a great deal of honour and maturity. He could have taken his revenge from the shadows. Instead he had chosen to face Athos in a duel that he must have known he would lose.

Which thought brought him to his present predicament. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to blacken his name. Worse was the stain on the honour and integrity of the Musketeers. When they arrived at the Palace Treville left to report to the King. That left the Red Guard free to taunt him and deliver a few blows to his back and sides. He bore it stoically, recognising his helplessness yet refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing fear. Eventually they got bored and contented themselves with verbal abuse. When one suggested removing his pauldron he raised an eyebrow and stared at them with cold fury.

"It'll be stripped from him soon enough when he's convicted," the leader of his guards said, covering his unease with false bravado.

Athos swallowed down his apprehension and continued to stare at the men with unnerving intensity until they backed down.

"The King's ready for him," one of the guards at the door to the throne room announced.

Athos straightened his back and walked in with his head held high. The King and Queen were sitting on their thrones with the Cardinal standing to the King's left. Athos' gaze swept over the waiting courtiers, settling for a moment on Aramis and Porthos. He inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement of their supportive presence.

When the undercurrent of talk died down the Cardinal took his place at the front of the room. His expression was predatory mixed with self-satisfaction. Athos' heart sank. Richelieu's hatred of the Musketeers was legendary and this was a heaven sent opportunity to damage the regiment.

"This man," Richelieu said advancing on Athos with his finger pointed straight at him. "Stands accused of highway robbery, assault and murder."

The words buzzed around Athos' head as he tried to process them. The crimes, if proven, carried the death penalty and he had no confidence that this would be anything more than a mockery of a trial.

He heard the Captain proclaiming his innocence and felt sick when he saw the smug look on the Cardinal's face. Witnesses were produced. The first spoke of the murder of a man called Alexander d'Artagnan, a name which caused Athos to look up in surprise. Twice he proclaimed his innocence and twice his words were ignored. He was not invited to testify or produce witnesses of his own. Judgement was passed with indecent haste and he found himself sentenced to die. Stunned he turned his gaze to his two friends who looked equally horrified.

Hands descended onto his shoulders and he was pulled back and to the side so that the King and Queen could leave the room. He was hustled out immediately after, manhandled down the stairs and pulled to a halt in the courtyard.

"What did I tell you, Musketeer scum?" the Red Guard captain said. "Now you're nothing more than a condemned prisoner. Remove his pauldron. He isn't fit to wear the King's insignia."

Athos licked his lips while he debated resisting but a pistol pressed into the small of his back discouraged him from moving. The pauldron was unbuckled from his doublet and pulled down his arm.

"Take care of it," he said.

"We'll take that." Aramis walked into his field of vision with Porthos by his side. The marksman held out a hand while Porthos looked intimidating.

Athos flashed them a wan smile as the pauldron was handed over to Aramis' safekeeping.

"Courage, brother." Aramis' hand came to rest gently on his shoulder. "We will find a way to clear your name."

"You don't have much time."

"Have faith."

He nodded, feeling bereft when his brothers turned to leave. His arms were pulled behind his back and he felt rope encircling his wrists. The urge to struggle was almost overwhelming but he reined in his emotions, keeping his head held high. Within minutes he had been loaded into a cart and was on his way to the Chatelet prison. As they approached the imposing edifice Athos could smell the odour of drying blood from the nearby slaughterhouses coupled with the almost overpowering reek of effluent from the sewers as it entered the Seine.

The cart trundled through the archway where a barred gate was unlocked for them. He twisted his head around to look behind him, catching what was certain to be his last glimpse of freedom. He had no doubt that his friends would do everything possible to disprove his guilt but it was already early afternoon and he was sentenced to die at dawn the next day. It gave them almost no time to find and present evidence in his favour. Would the King even listen if they did uncover anything? Richelieu had reminded Louis that his judgement was infallible. How would the King take to being proved wrong?

They came to a standstill and he was ordered to get down. When he was led down some steps into a courtyard all he could hear were the shouts and jeers of the other prisoners who were delighted to see a Musketeer fall so low. He stared straight ahead and refused to acknowledge the cruel words that battered him from every direction. The rope binding his wrists was cut and replaced with shackles and chains. He was taken to a cold dank cell and chained to the floor. His only consolation was that he was alone. If he had been incarcerated with other prisoners he doubted that he would survive long enough to be shot at dawn.

He huddled close to the bars reflecting on the irony of the situation. For five years he had lived in a state of overwhelming guilt. Every night he'd tried to drown out the voices in his head with copious amounts of wine. He'd gone into every fight determined to prevail but resigned to the inescapable fact that one day his luck would run out. Luck! That was a laughable concept.

He'd believed himself to be the luckiest man in the world when he met Anne and she consented to be his wife. His happiness had lasted one summer. It had been a time when he'd allowed his inbred barriers to shatter. He'd let her behind his walls and she had repaid him by murdering his brother.

Where did his guilt lie? In failing to see what she was? He had been blinded by her beauty and passion. He'd discounted Catherine's shrewish comments about Anne only marrying him for money and position. Perhaps his guilt was in his failure to save Thomas's life. Anne had accused his little brother of trying to force her but how could he believe that of his beloved sibling? He was the elder brother. Thomas had been his responsibility and he had let him down.

His musings were interrupted by a priest who had been sent to offer him comfort. Unbidden he said, "There was a woman." A woman he had loved more than life. He could see her clearly standing in the field waiting for him. He had picked her favourite flower, a forget-me-not. "I killed her."

There was a look of horrified surprise on the priest's face. Suddenly he couldn't stand the prospect of forgiveness. He sent the priest away and sank back into his memories. Anne's laughter had changed to pleading while she stood before him covered in Thomas's blood. Without any trial he had condemned her to death. Now he was the one facing the executioner and it felt surprisingly liberating. He had ordered her to be hanged then, in his cowardice, he'd ridden away before the deed was completed. For months his dreams had been haunted by her dead face, beautiful green eyes open in reproach.

The jailor brought him a bowl of unidentifiable slop which he ignored. In his mind he was back in their bedroom making love while a warm breeze stirred the curtains. Then they were out in the grounds of the estate where she teasingly ran away from him. When he caught her she rewarded him with a kiss and then with something far more intimate. His final memory before sleep claimed him was of the tree, the massive oak from which she'd dangled, taking her last choking breath before death claimed her.

He slept for a while, waking to find everything was quiet. There was no window in his cell so it was impossible to gauge the passage of time. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his body. The air was damp and cold and he pitied those poor souls who were condemned to rot here. He was dozing when they came for him. He was taken to the yard and chained to the wall. Did they really think he would try to escape his fate? He watched the soldiers readying their weapons, anxious now to have the deed done. He tilted his head up to the sky and closed his eyes, waiting for the tearing pain and the final release from his torment. Nothing happened. Incensed, he opened his eyes to find them still fussing with the rifles.

"Shoot, damn you!"

Then, suddenly, Aramis was there waving a piece of parchment and declaring that he had been pardoned. He sagged against the chains, all the nervous energy that had been running through his body draining away in a few seconds. His knees felt weak and he leaned on Porthos when the big man came to free him. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle and he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him with malice in their heart. He looked up but the window overlooking the courtyard was empty. He shook his head, attributing the feeling to his overstressed nerves.

Soon enough he was able to walk and there, to his astonishment, was young d'Artagnan, grinning at him. How he had been saved was a mystery but clearly this boy had played a part. He walked up the stairs and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment.

With brisk efficiency Aramis arranged for his shackles to be removed. He followed them out to the forecourt where four horses were waiting.

"Treville wants to see you," Aramis said.

Athos climbed into the saddle and clung onto the reins. He felt weak and disorientated but that wasn't something he was willing to share with the others. When they arrived back at the garrison he handed his mount over to a stable boy and climbed the stairs to Treville's office. After knocking briefly he entered the room and was gratified to see the relieved smile that graced the Captain's face.

"It's good to see you, Athos. Sit down."

Athos sat and laced his fingers together to stop his hands from trembling. "How did you arrange for my release?"

"For that you can thank Aramis, Porthos and that young Gascon." Treville's expression turned sat. "Cornet and his troop are dead."

"Dead?" It was unfathomable. "All of them?" An entire troop wiped out. Men he had served with for years who would never come home.

"They were ambushed by a renegade group of Red Guard. They were stripped of their uniforms." Treville's rising anger was a living thing filling the room.

"Why?"

"So that their assailants could masquerade as Musketeers."

Athos' tired brain was having trouble following the conversation. "Why would they do that and why single me out?"

"We have no idea. Unfortunately, their leader was killed. But there is one of the men in jail and he will be questioned in the morning. Maybe we will find out something more then." Treville stood up and rounded the desk to stand in front of Athos. "You have had quite an ordeal. You are excused duties for the day. Go and get some rest."

Athos nodded and stood up. He wasn't surprised to find his friends waiting for him outside Treville's door. What was surprising was that d'Artagnan was still with them.

"What are you goin' to do now?" Porthos asked.

Athos considered that. "I'm going to drink."

"It's only mid-morning," d'Artagnan said.

"Your point?" He led the way down the stairs. "Are you joining me?"

"Sadly we have our duties to attend to but we will find you later. Where are you going?" Aramis asked.

"The Wren." He stopped and looked quizzically at the Gascon. "It's not that I'm ungrateful but why did you help me?"

"I wanted revenge on the man who killed my father. I was misled into thinking that man was you. When Aramis and Porthos came seeking my help how could I turn them away?"

"You are full of surprises. Come, you have no duties. Let me buy you some wine. It is a poor enough recompense for my life."

"Very well. If you insist."

Porthos clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder. "Don't try to keep up with him. He'll drink you under the table."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Come then, d'Artagnan. Gentlemen, we will see you later."

By the time Aramis and Porthos joined them Athos was well into his third bottle of wine. He had already successfully found out all about d'Artagnan's history and the young man had even confessed his desire to become a Musketeer. His friends, knowing his preference to drink alone, took a separate table and beckoned d'Artagnan over to join them. Athos settled in for some serious drinking, his thoughts once again consumed by the most perfect summer of his life. He was vaguely aware of Aramis and d'Artagnan leaving but he knew he wasn't truly alone. Porthos would stay to watch over him and he could rely on his friend to get him home. Not that he was in any hurry. He picked up the fourth bottle of wine and silently saluted lady luck who apparently had not yet chosen to desert him.

The End


	2. Chapter 2

This is set prior to episode 1.2.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Two**

"Don't overextend yourself." Athos stepped forward and tapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder with his sword. "You just end up exposed to your opponent's blade." He stepped back and readied himself for d'Artagnan's next assault.

The young Gascon had become a permanent fixture in the garrison and Treville seemed to be content to let him learn the skills necessary to become a Musketeer. Unfortunately d'Artagnan didn't have the money to purchase his commission and so would be reliant upon coming to the attention of the King. Athos was still somewhat bemused by the way the young man had easily slipped into a friendship with the three of them. It felt like he had been part of their group for years yet, in reality, it had been mere weeks since his precipitous arrival at the garrison.

He realised his mind had been wandering when d'Artagnan attacked and nearly slipped through his guard.

"Watch yourself, Athos," Aramis called cheerfully. "He nearly had you there."

Athos disengaged and threw a dismissive look towards his two friends who were watching their exertions with disconcerting enthusiasm. "I think you are mistaken," he said haughtily.

The bout lasted for another couple of minutes before the adversaries, by mutual consent, raised their swords. Aramis threw towels at both of them so that they would wipe their faces and necks which were soaked in sweat.

"You didn't use any of the moves I taught you," Porthos said to d'Artagnan.

"I hardly think kneeing someone in the groin is an honourable tactic," d'Artagnan responded.

"You won't say that the first time you get in a scrap with the Red Guards." Porthos handed them each a cup of water.

"Porthos has a point. Down and dirty fighting is sometimes the only way to win a fight."

"Stop trying to corrupt the boy." Athos sat on the bench beside the table. "What happened to the code of honour?"

"That's all very well if your opponent fights fair." Aramis ruffled the boy's hair just to watch the disgusted expression that crossed d'Artagnan's face.

"My father taught me always to respect the code."

Porthos laughed. "You'll grow out of it."

"Athos, Porthos, Aramis. My office. Now." Treville's voice floated down from his balcony. "And bring d'Artagnan."

The men exchanged glances before heading up the stairs. The Captain was sitting behind his desk, looking bad-tempered.

"What did you do this time?" Porthos whispered to Aramis.

The marksman looked offended. "Nothing. Why do you always blame me when we're called before the Captain?"

"Because it's usually your fault," Athos said placidly. "Last week it was that irate husband who accused you of sleeping with his wife. The week before that you picked a fight with a Red Guard and had the Cardinal complaining to Treville about you."

"He was cheating at cards," Aramis said defensively. "Besides, I didn't kill him. And it wasn't my fault that the young woman was attracted to me."

"Enough!" Treville said, rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache. "This isn't about Aramis' admittedly troublesome behaviour. Last night a man named Vadim was arrested. He is suspected of having stolen a vast amount of gunpowder."

"Why?" Athos asked.

"I wish we knew. It's enough to start a small war. He's refusing to speak about it or tell us where the rest of his men are hiding. He's being held in the Chatelet pending a trial."

"What has this to do with us?"

"We have to get someone close to him."

"He's never going to open up to a Musketeer, even one who appears to be disgraced," Athos said.

"I know that." Treville turned to d'Artagnan. "I have no right to ask anything of you. You aren't under my command."

"No!" Athos said. "Absolutely not. You can't send d'Artagnan on a mission like this. He isn't ready."

D'Artagnan scowled at the older man. "I'm not a child."

"No, you're not. You're a farmer from Gascony and this man, Vadim, is obviously very dangerous."

"I can look after myself," d'Artagnan protested, looking hurt by Athos' lack of faith in him.

"This is a matter of national security," Treville said. "D'Artagnan is the only one capable of tricking Vadim. We need him."

"Very well," Athos conceded grudgingly. "But, I want to be able to check on his wellbeing while he is in that god-forsaken place." He suppressed a shudder. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd been locked away in the Chatelet, facing imminent execution for crimes he hadn't committed.

"I'm sure we can arrange that. The Queen will be making her Easter visit to the prison to pardon some of the inmates. I will ensure that you, Aramis and Porthos are part of her guard detail."

"How do we get the whelp into the prison? It's got to look convincin'" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan scowled at the description and Porthos grinned at him, totally unrepentant.

"I think I might have an idea," Aramis said.

TMTMTM

"This is a really bad idea," Athos groused as he settled down at a table in the Wren.

"On the contrary, my dear Athos, it is sheer brilliance."

"Which one should I choose?" d'Artagnan asked, looking around the room.

"How about that one?" Porthos pointed to a small man dressed in the uniform of the Red Guards.

"Too puny," Aramis replied thoughtfully. "That one maybe?"

"He's as large as Porthos," Athos said, looking at the man Aramis had indicated. "If d'Artagnan starts a fight with him he's likely to be knocked flat on his arse in the first five seconds." He signalled to one of the girls to bring them two bottles of wine. "I don't think any of them are likely candidates."

"We can wait. More of them will arrive when they get off-duty." Aramis smiled at the young woman who was delivering wine and glasses to their table. She blushed and ducked her head, looking at him through long dark eyelashes. He held out a coin. "Can you see what food the kitchen is serving tonight?" he asked.

"Yes, Monsieur."

"Aramis." He stared into her eyes with a soulful expression.

"Stop flirting with the hired help," Athos said in an annoyed tone. "We're here on business."

"Don't mind him," Aramis said, patting her on the backside. "He finds women intimidating."

The girl giggled and moved away. Aramis sat back with a smug look on his face. "You need to learn some finesse, my friend. A few kind words always guarantees better service."

"That looks promising." Porthos gestured towards the door where a group of three Red Guards were just entering the tavern. "See that one with the long greasy hair? That's Giroux. He's notorious for fightin' duels. Never lost."

"I'm not sure we want d'Artagnan engineering a duel with someone so competent," Athos said drily.

"He only has to stay alive for a few minutes until the Red Guard come to arrest him."

"That's comforting." Athos poured them all a glass of wine before downing his in one swallow.

"How do I get him to challenge me?" d'Artagnan asked, eyeing Giroux warily.

"Knocking into him and making him spill his wine should do it," Aramis said. "He's got a very short temper."

D'Artagnan waited until the men had settled down at a table before getting up and weaving unsteadily around the gathered patrons. He licked his lips nervously as he got closer to Giroux. It wasn't that he was afraid of dueling with the man, but he didn't want to let the Musketeers down by failing in his appointed task. He drew level with his quarry and lurched to one side, catching Giroux on the arm just as the soldier raised his glass. Red wine spilled everywhere.

Giroux was immediately on his feet, his hand reaching for the front of d'Artagnan's doublet. "What d'you think you're doing?" he asked aggressively.

D'Artagnan squirmed in his tight grip. "You should watch what you're doing," he slurred.

Giroux shook him. "I was sitting having a drink. You're the one who barged into me."

"You're one ugly bastard," d'Artagnan said, bracing himself for the inevitable. He flinched when Giroux drew back his arm.

"Gentlemen," Athos said smoothly. "It seems to me that there's only one way to resolve this."

"What's it to you?" Giroux dropped his arm although he kept firm hold of d'Artagnan.

"He's a friend of ours but I'm afraid he's not very good at holding his drink. You could hit him of course, but you'd be taking advantage of his condition. Might I suggest that a fairer way to deal with the situation is to meet him at dawn at the Luxembourg Gardens?"

"Does he even know how to use a sword?" Giroux sneered.

"There's only one way to find out," Aramis said, joining the group. "Unless of course you're scared."

"You want to fight as well?" Giroux asked.

"It was merely an observation."

"Alright." Giroux shook d'Artagnan once more before letting go. "Dawn tomorrow. Now get him out of my sight."

Which was how d'Artagnan came to be shivering in the early morning air the next day in the Luxembourg Gardens. He drew his sword and watched while Athos consulted with Giroux's second. A fierce joy swept through him. This was his chance to show Treville and his friends what he was made of. He took a deep breath and waited for the duel to begin.

The End


	3. Chapter 3

This is for Issai who wanted to see how Athos would react to the news that d'Artagnan had nearly been blown into tiny pieces. Set after the end of episode 1.2. If anyone else has any requests for Missing Pieces I would be happy to hear from you.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Three**

The four men, slightly battered and more than a little dishevelled, returned to the palace with the missing jewels. Treville took one look at them and ordered them back to the garrison to rest. As they walked through the streets Athos kept shaking his head to try to alleviate the ringing in his ears. It wasn't the first time he'd been uncomfortably close to a blast and he knew it would be hours before his hearing returned to normal. He kept shooting surreptitious glances at d'Artagnan, who was looking pale and had one arm held protectively around his ribs. He could see that Aramis was also watching their young friend with a frown creasing his brow.

"What happened with you and Vadim?" Athos asked. "We came looking but you had all disappeared."

D'Artagnan looked at the ground. "He played me from the very beginning. He knew I was working with you and used me to pass along false information."

"He must have lied to his men as well," Aramis said. "The bombs they threw at the King and Queen were duds. I can't imagine they would have risked their lives like that just so Vadim could steal the King's jewels."

"It was his way. Misdirection. I should have seen it," d'Artagnan said bitterly. He stumbled slightly, only saved from falling by Porthos grabbing his arm.

"You're hurt." Athos stopped and looked him over for any sign of a wound. "There's blood in your hair."

"He knocked me out."

"It's more than that." Athos traded a glance with Aramis who was looking equally concerned.

"I'll tell you at the garrison," d'Artagnan said, his voice laced with exhaustion.

"You can tell us while I check you over," Aramis said.

"Come on, whelp, lean on me." Porthos slipped his arm around d'Artagnan's waist.

Athos wished that they had their horses so that they could return quicker, but if he was right and d'Artagnan's ribs were injured, being bounced around would not have done him any good either. Their pace was slowed by the clearly flagging Gascon but eventually they walked through the archway and into the garrison. The atmosphere was tense, word having reached the Musketeers of the attack on the monarch. Athos provided an abbreviated account of events, his only concern being for the welfare of d'Artagnan who was now leaning heavily on Porthos.

"Take him to the infirmary," Aramis ordered. "I will fetch my supplies."

Once d'Artagnan was sitting hunched over on a bed Athos hunkered down in front of him. "Where are you hurt?"

"My head, ribs and back," d'Artagnan mumbled.

Athos swallowed heavily, guilt lying like a stone in his chest. He should have tried harder to protect the boy from a situation he had known was too dangerous. D'Artagnan should never have been put in harm's way. He was an untrained youth with more courage than was good for him and the innate belief of the young that they were invincible. "We know how you got a head injury. How did you come to injury your ribs and back."

"When I regained consciousness I was in a room in the tunnels under the Louvre. I was…I was tied to the barrels of gunpowder. Vadim meant for me to die there."

Gently Athos took hold of his right arm and pushed up his sleeve, wincing when he saw the torn skin around d'Artagnan's wrist. "This is my fault. I should have ordered you not to go back to Vadim after you passed on the information about the attack on the King."

D'Artagnan raised his head. "I wouldn't have listened."

"It was unfair to involve you in Musketeer business."

Pride shone in d'Artagnan's eyes. "If I am ever to gain my commission I have to prove my worth."

Athos bowed his head in silent acknowledgement although it did nothing to reduce the rampant guilt flooding his body. In the short time they had known d'Artagnan he had become uncomfortably aware that the young man had started to look up to him. His words and approval were important. If he had pushed harder Treville or d'Artagnan might have backed down from their insane plan.

"Doesn't explain how you were injured," Porthos said.

"I managed to get free but was still very close when the blast happened. The force threw me several feet. I landed on my front but I think I must have twisted my back when I fell."

Anger warred with guilt for prominence. It was some consolation that d'Artagnan had killed Vadim but he began to wish the man was still alive so that he could suffer more for his crimes. His brooding was interrupted by Aramis' arrival. He stood up and moved away to give their medic a chance to examine d'Artagnan.

"The blow to your head broke the skin," Aramis said. "I imagine you have a headache. Do you feel nauseous?"

"A little."

"A mild concussion then. The good news is that you don't need stitches."

Athos listened distractedly, his thoughts turned inward with self-loathing. It didn't matter that d'Artagnan had volunteered for the mission. It was his responsibility to protect the young man from his own foolhardiness. With a shock of adrenaline he realised that he was equating his duty to d'Artagnan with his duty to Thomas. He had failed to protect his little brother and now another had almost suffered a similar fate. Bile rose in his throat.

"Ow!"

The expression of pain brought his thoughts back to the present. D'Artagnan had removed his shirt so that Athos could see an array of bruises littering the Gascon's chest and arms. Aramis was prodding the area around d'Artagnan's ribs.

"From your reaction I'd say you have some cracked ribs," Aramis reported. "You must be careful for the next few weeks less you do further damage. Porthos, can you hand me the bandages?" He wrapped the cloth several times around d'Artagnan's chest. "Where else are you hurt? I can see the mess you made of your wrists."

"His back," Athos said.

"Hm, let me see." Aramis moved around behind d'Artagnan and began to palpate the muscles. "Here?"

"Yes." D'Artagnan had lost what little colour had remained in his cheeks and was beginning to look a little green.

Athos grabbed a bowl and held it under the young man's chin. With his other hand around d'Artagnan's shoulder he supported him while he retched miserably. He turned his head to catch Porthos' eye. "Water."

Aramis waited until d'Artagnan had rinsed out his mouth before continuing his examination. "The muscles are all bunched up. I have some salve that will help to loosen them."

While Aramis used tweezers to remove fibres of rope from the wounds on d'Artagnan's wrists, Athos perched on the edge of one of the other beds, unable to watch. Logic told him that he was not to blame for the myriad array of injuries but when had he let logic overcome his own feelings of culpability? He had been a failure as a husband and brother. Now, it seemed he was to suffer the same inadequacies as a mentor to a boy who deserved better. D'Artagnan had it in him to be a great Musketeer and had chosen exactly the wrong man to try and emulate. With a muttered oath he pushed himself to his feet and fled the room.

He was in stables stroking the velvety muzzle of his horse when he heard footsteps behind him. He suppressed a sigh, wondering whether it was Porthos or Aramis who had been tasked with talking some sense into him.

"It's not your fault, you know."

He turned slowly. "You should be resting."

D'Artagnan leaned on one of the supporting posts. "Porthos and Aramis are worried about you. They say you are blaming yourself for the fact that I was injured. I wanted you to know that you're wrong."

"I appreciate the sentiment but with all due respect to my friends, they don't know what I'm thinking."

D'Artagnan gave a short laugh. "They only have to look at your face to know you're riddled with guilt. The fault lies with Vadim, not you."

"Don't make the mistake of thinking you know me, d'Artagnan." His throat was dry and he would have killed for a bottle of wine. Talking about his feelings was anathema to him. His upbringing had ensured that he never shared his triumphs or his grief with anyone, even those closest to him.

"I would never presume to think that. You are a very private man and your thoughts are your own."

"Then why are you here?"

"Vadim fooled everyone. It wouldn't have mattered what you did, you would never have discovered his plan. We followed the only course open to us. Think how you would have felt if the threat against the King had been real and we had done nothing to try and stop it."

"You owe no loyalty to us or the King."

"I was brought up to believe that my duty was to the crown. It was my honour to be asked to help."

Athos shook his head, amazed by the fortitude of this young man who had burst into their lives such a short time before. "You will make a fine Musketeer one day."

Spots of colour appeared on d'Artagnan's cheeks. "You really believe that?"

"I wouldn't have said it had I not meant it. One thing you will discover about me, d'Artagnan, is that I do not believe in meaningless platitudes." He took a quick step forward when he saw his friend start to sway. "You should be lying down. Aramis will have my head if I keep you out here any longer."

"It was my choice to come."

"And now you have said your piece it is time to rest."

"What are you going to do?"

"I will attend to my duties as always." He offered his arm for d'Artagnan to lean on.

"You're not going to drown yourself in wine?"

His lips quirked upwards slightly at the astute question. "Maybe later."

"Not on my account."

Athos cleared his throat and concurred because that was what d'Artagnan wanted to hear. The truth, though, was that he had heaped yet another burden of guilt on his head and only knew of one way to make it bearable. Nonetheless he made a silent oath to try and be the man d'Artagnan believed him to be. He would help steer this courageous and foolhardy young man towards his commission. Then, perhaps, he would finally leave a legacy of great worth to the world.

The End


	4. Chapter 4

This is set during episode 1.3, Commodities. It is for Deana who wanted some Aramis whump. Thanks to everyone for the wonderful story ideas. I am working through the episodes in order and will get to them all in time.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Four**

In the heat of battle injuries were often overlooked. The violent blow from a heavy chain cause Aramis to pause momentarily as pain flared in his lower back. Then he was back to fighting for his life, his injury forgotten. A few short minutes later Porthos was felled by an axe blow to the shoulder and all thoughts of his own well-being fled. He rushed to Porthos' side, barely noticing the ache in his back as he bent down to assess the severity of the wound.

The battle swirled around him and then abruptly ended. He saw a man talking to Athos. Bonnaire was making some excuse, his lies rolling off his tongue. Desperate to bring matters to a head Aramis drew his pistol and stood up, pointing it steadily at the leader of their attackers. Once peace had been restored he returned to Porthos' side. The cut was deep and bleeding heavily. It would have to be stitched to prevent Porthos from bleeding out. There was a brief argument with Athos and then they were loading Porthos into the cart. Aramis climbed up to sit with him and applied pressure to the wound.

His back spasmed and he hissed, grateful that there was no-one other than Porthos to hear him. He rested a hand on his tense muscles, imagining the spectacular bruising that would be developing on his skin. He felt faintly sick but distracted himself by caring for his best friend.

Porthos was conscious, teeth clenched tightly against the agony. "Where we goin'?"

"Athos knows of a place near here. Hold on, my friend, we will soon have you safe and well."

The journey was painful for Porthos and uncomfortable for Aramis who stoically ignored his own needs. His all-consuming concern was for Porthos. Eventually he left the cramped conditions in the wagon and mounted his horse, content that Porthos would endure for a short time on his own. When they arrived at the mansion Aramis supported Porthos' weight even though his own back was worsening.

During the painstaking procedure of stitching the wound closed he was able to push the pain to the back of his mind. Once he was finished he stretched and groaned. No-one commented, assuming he was just stiff from having been bent over for an hour. He excused himself and wandered through the rooms looking for a chamber pot. He found one in one of the many abandoned bedchambers and prepared to relieve himself. However, the stream of urine was accompanied by a burning pain and, when he looked, there was fresh blood staining the bowl.

He looked at it in disbelief. How had a blow to the back resulted in internal bleeding? He carried the bowl outside to dispose of the contents and then rinsed it with water from the well. It wouldn't do for his friends to discover his problem, not when everyone should be tending to Porthos. Not that Athos was doing much to help. He had disappeared off immediately after rendering Porthos unconscious. Aramis didn't know what demons haunted his friend but they were clearly worse now that he was in his own home.

Now that he knew he was hurt he found it harder to ignore the pain in his back. From a dull ache it was now a fiery inferno centred over his right kidney. An injury to the kidney would explain the blood but how bad was it? He had no way to gauge the answer to that question and there would be no opportunity to seek the aid of a physician until they returned to Paris. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to walk normally when all he really wanted to do was curl up in a corner and ride out the pain.

He returned to the room where he had left Porthos, praying that his face wouldn't give him away. D'Artagnan was standing close to their friend seemingly engrossed in the small movements Porthos was making.

"I would move further away if I was you," Aramis said. "Porthos has been known to lash out as he returns to consciousness."

D'Artagnan hastily backed away and, moments later, Porthos woke, his arm flying out to the side seemingly of its own volition. Unfortunately it was his injured arm which caused him to bellow in pain. Aramis was at his side in seconds.

"It's alright, Porthos. Just lie still."

Groggy brown eyes regarded him questioningly but Porthos did as he was told.

"You were injured, remember? Your shoulder."

"Shoulder?" Porthos thought for a moment during which time he gradually became more alert. "Axe." He peered at Aramis. "Y'look like hell."

"Nonsense. You're imagining things." He turned away, discomfited by Porthos' scrutiny.

"He's right," d'Artagnan said, moving closer. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. No doubt it is only the strain of having to sew up a gaping wound in my friend's shoulder." He took a deep breath which only made matters worse.

D'Artagnan grabbed his arm. "There is definitely something wrong."

"A minor pain in my back," Aramis said, recognising that he wasn't going to get away with a flat denial. "It happened during the fight with Meunier and his men. It is nothing to be concerned about. Now, shouldn't you be watching Bonnaire? We don't want him absconding during the night."

Emile Bonnaire, who was sitting across the room, looked hurt. "As if I would do such a thing!" He quickly subsided when d'Artagnan glared at him.

"If you're sure it's nothing serious…"

"I have experienced far worse in my time, d'Artagnan." Which was the truth although the pain was almost enough to drive him to his knees. "Where's Athos?" he asked, trying to take his mind off his injury. He patted Porthos on his uninjured shoulder and began to check the bandages.

"Off getting drunk somewhere I think. He's taking it hard, being back here. Something bad must have happened for him to react like this."

"I'm afraid I have no idea what it was. We didn't even know he was the Comte de la Fere until this afternoon."

"I think I should go and see if he is alright. Can you manage Porthos and Bonnaire for a while?"

"Of course. Go." He helped Porthos to move to one of the sofas and sank down beside him, grateful to be off his feet. "Try and rest. You lost a lot of blood."

The pain was making him feel sick again so he leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs. Porthos was too occupied with his own suffering to notice and Bonnaire was too self-absorbed to care. When d'Artagnan returned to report that Athos hadn't completely self-destructed Aramis tried to find a comfortable position in which to rest. It was almost impossible. If he leaned against the back of the sofa he could feel every inch of the bruising on his back. If he twisted to the side he pulled on his abused muscles. It was a long and sleepless night.

In the morning, just to compound his misery, Maria Bonnaire arrived and staged a daring rescue of her husband. Since he wasn't prepared to admit to his injury he had no choice other than to join in the chase. The movement of his horse send shards of agony coursing through is lower back and his vision began to grey. It was only when they were attacked that the jolt of adrenaline cleared his head sufficiently for him to fight back. He was enormously grateful that d'Artagnan had taken off after Bonnaire and that Athos was too distracted to notice his infirmity.

It was almost the final straw when he had to carry Maria's body across the field with d'Artagnan. On numerous occasions he nearly dropped her, pleading tiredness when d'Artagnan questioned him. Then, of course, Porthos had to go and rip some of his stitches so those had to be replaced. He had been disturbed to find that his hands were shaking but managed to angle his body so that no-one else noticed.

By the time Athos ordered them to return to Paris without him he was almost at the end of his endurance. On two further occasions he had passed blood while urinating and there had been no diminishment in the level of his pain. They still had almost a day's ride ahead of them with the prospect of spending the night out in the open if they didn't make good enough time. All things considered he felt decidedly wretched.

He rode ahead while Bonnaire drove the wagon with Porthos sitting beside him. They hadn't gone far before d'Artagnan decided to go back for Athos. The young man had a feeling their brother needed company despite the views of both Aramis and Porthos that he wouldn't be welcome. After a while Aramis let the wagon overtake him and rode behind, practically doubled over due to the unrelenting agony. By the time they stopped for the evening he was barely holding on to consciousness. There was no way to hide his condition, particularly when he practically fell out of the saddle. He came to his senses to find he was lying on the ground with Porthos cradling his shoulders.

"I knew there was somethin' wrong."

Aramis attempted a weak smile. "It's nothing to be concerned about."

"Like hell it isn't! What aren't you tellin' me?" Porthos turned away to glower at Bonnaire. "You sit over there and don't move until I tell you."

Athos struggled to sit up, groaning as he did so. "Before you were injured I was struck in the back with a chain. The blow was hard enough to damage my kidney I believe."

"Why didn't you say somethin', you damn fool?"

"Your need was greater than mine."

"What can we do about it?"

"Rest is the only cure and I fear that is an impossibility until we deliver Bonnaire to the Cardinal."

"Wait until Athos finds out you lied to us," Porthos said threateningly.

Aramis grabbed his arm. "Don't tell him, please. He has enough to deal with. He doesn't need to be worried about me."

"I'll keep my mouth shut if you rest."

Aramis closed his eyes and nodded, having no reserves of energy left with which to argue. The night passed slowly. He would fall asleep only to be woken by spasms in his muscles. It seemed to him that he had only just settled each time before he was jarred awake again. In the morning Porthos wouldn't hear of him riding so he spent the remainder of the journey in the back of the wagon. It wasn't any more comfortable but at least he didn't risk falling and breaking his neck.

He roused sufficiently to accompany Bonnaire and Porthos to the meeting with the Cardinal after which they returned to the garrison. Porthos was a mass of barely controlled rage at the knowledge that Bonnaire had been freed to return to the Caribbean. Aramis couldn't blame him. Bonnaire was a slaver and that was a subject that lay at little too close to Porthos' heart. He wished there was something he could do to help his friend but right at that moment all he wanted to do was fall into bed.

When he woke the next morning the pain had started to recede so he decided to dispense with seeking medical aid. Treville had given them a couple of days leave so Aramis took the opportunity to stay in his room and apply heat to his back. Towards nightfall there was a knock on his door.

"Come in."

Athos entered the room looking more somber than ever. "We missed you today. Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"

"Porthos told you?"

"No. I finally woke up from wallowing in self-pity and realised you weren't looking well when you set out for Paris. The fact that you hid yourself away all day just confirmed my suspicions. Are you going to tell me?"

Aramis sighed and related the tale of his injury. "It is getting better. I haven't passed any blood today and the pain is less."

"That's good news. Tell me, do you feel up to returning to Le Havre? I have a plan to make Emile Bonnaire pay for his crimes."

"Try and stop me."

Two days later they were in Le Havre executing Athos' plan. Although he was still feeling far from well it warmed Aramis' heart to see the pleasure on Porthos' face when they delivered Bonnaire to the Spanish. It had been a difficult mission for all of them but for everyone except Bonnaire it had a happy ending.

The End.


	5. Chapter 5

This missing scene is from episode 1.4, The Good Soldier. It is for Issai and Deana who provided the plot bunnies.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Five**

The sound of shots coming from the armoury was enough to attract the attention of every Musketeer within earshot. Porthos was one of the first to shoulder his way inside but he stopped dead at the sight that met his eyes.

"Merde." He grasped the arm of the man nearest to him and shoved him towards the door. "Fetch Athos." Then, he turned furiously on the others. "I've got this. Get out of here." The last thing Aramis needed was an audience. He moved forward cautiously only to find his way barred by Treville.

"He saved my life. Be gentle with him."

Porthos acknowledged that with a grunt and dropped to his knees. "Aramis?"

The marksman knelt on the cold stone floor, Marsac's dead body cradled gently in his arms. His head was bowed and, when Porthos carefully tilted Aramis' face up, he could see the tracks of tears on his friend's face. Aramis barely acknowledged his presence, his gaze fixed on some distant vista that only he could see. It didn't take much imagination for Porthos to know what it was.

Footsteps heralded the arrival of Athos who sucked in a shocked breath before joining Porthos and placing a hand on Aramis' shoulder. "Let us take him."

Aramis tightened his grip, refusing to look at either of them. "No."

Athos traded glances with Treville who waited uncertainly outside the circle of friends. "What happened?"

"Marsac came here to kill me. Aramis shot him."

Athos' eyebrows shot up. "He killed his friend?"

"He made a choice and, God help me, he chose me."

Although Athos sensed that there was more to the story it would have to wait for another day. His only concern was for his friend who was worryingly pale and none too steady. He could feel the tremors wracking Aramis. "We need to take care of the body," he said softly.

Aramis began to rock back and forth, his eyes devoid of life.

Athos squeezed harder, trying to ground his friend and anchor him to the here and now. He looked helplessly at Porthos. "What do we do?"

"Aramis?" Porthos leaned forward and caught the marksman's wandering gaze. "Why don't you take Marsac to the infirmary? It's better than stayin' here." An infinitesimal nod was the only response he received. "Good. That's good. I'll hold him while you stand up."

With the same degree of care a mother would take with a child Aramis adjusted his grip so that Porthos could take his place.

Athos grasped his arm and helped him to his feet. When Aramis bent down to lift Marsac's body he intervened. "We can help you."

"I can manage." Aramis' voice was tight and lacking any inflexion.

Athos backed away, ready to help if Aramis faltered. Aramis staggered a little under the weight before getting his bearings again. While Porthos followed him out of the armoury Athos stayed to speak to Treville.

"We will watch over him. It would be best if you stayed away at least for now."

Although Treville looked stricken, he nodded his acceptance. "I assume it was Marsac who tried to kill the Duke?"

"Yes. There is much to tell you but Aramis' welfare is what matters now."

"Of course." Treville straightened up to his normal rigid posture. "I will report to the King that the assassin is dead. It should help his negotiations with Savoy."

"We will need a coffin. Marsac should be buried in the garrison cemetery." If Athos was expecting an argument he didn't receive one. Marsac might have been a deserter but he had dedicated his life to exacting vengeance for his slaughtered brothers and that was deserving of recognition. Also, he knew it was what Aramis would want.

When he arrived in the infirmary he found Aramis hunched over beside the bed where Marsac lay, and Porthos pacing around the room.

"He isn't talkin'," Porthos said.

"That's concerning. The last time I saw him like this was after the massacre."

"Damn Marsac for coming back and opening old wounds," Porthos hissed, being careful to keep his voice low.

"We will have to be patient with him. He will come back to us when he's ready."

"What if he doesn't?"

That wasn't an outcome Athos was prepared to contemplate. "He has great inner strength. He survived Savoy and he will survive this."

"D'you remember what it was like…when we found them?"

"Some memories never dim."

TMTMTM

 _ **A forest on the outskirts of Savoy, April 1625**_

Athos had only been with the regiment a few months when he was chosen to accompany Treville and half a dozen other Musketeers to Savoy. Two weeks earlier a full troop had been despatched to the area for a training exercise and now they were overdue. He rode beside Porthos, the big man fretting about the fate of his best friend. Since enlisting Athos had tried to keep his distance from his new colleagues but Porthos and Aramis had gone out of their way to welcome him and he had gradually found himself spending more and more time in their company.

Aramis and another seasoned soldier, Marsac, had been put in charge of the exercise. Athos had found Marsac to be an excellent fighter but an unlikable person. On those nights when Marsac had been part of the group he had always left early to avoid the acerbic comments about his lack of experience and his absolute refusal to discuss his past. He only tolerated the man only because he could see the bond between him and Aramis. Although it wasn't as strong as with Porthos it wasn't something he could ignore.

It was Porthos who saw the birds first, ravens circling around a few hundred yards away. When they entered the clearing Athos felt the bile rising up in his throat. Bodies, desecrated by the ravens and other scavengers, lay on the snow covered forest floor. Some had been run through. Others had their throats slit. It was a massacre of unbelievable proportions. He had witnessed death before but had never seen the results of so much senseless brutality. There was a choked cry from Treville, something so out of character for the man that Athos stared at him intently for a moment. Then they were all dismounting to check the bodies for any signs of life.

It was Porthos who found Aramis. The marksman was propped up against the trunk of a tree, his head hanging low to his chest and with a bloodstained bandage around his head. Porthos removed his glove and pressed his fingers to Aramis' throat. There was a heart stopping delay before Porthos looked up. "He's still alive," he reported joyously.

Athos almost didn't believe him. Aramis was as pale as an alabaster statue, and as unmoving. He crouched down on the other side and laid a hand against Aramis' cheek. "He's freezing. We need to warm him up." He looked towards Treville for instructions only to find the Captain standing on the edge of the glade, his lips moving soundlessly. "Sir?"

Treville blinked and seemed to return to himself. "Start a fire. We'll…we'll gather the bodies. Porthos, take care of Aramis."

Athos hurriedly gathered sticks and branches, piling them up in a heap a short distance away from Aramis. He saw that Porthos had cocooned Aramis in blankets and pulled him into a firm embrace although the man was still deeply unconscious. The dead were being lined up on the far side of the glade, the grisly work taxing the emotions of his comrades. He lit the fire and then went to help.

Once all the bodies had been moved he walked along the row, counting them. When he reached the end he frowned and counted again. A scan of the faces brought with it the realisation that Marsac wasn't there. He wasn't the first to come to that conclusion and Treville ordered them to scour the forest around the glade for the missing man. By nightfall no trace of him had been found and there had been no change in Aramis' condition.

More fires had sprung up and the men sat around them in silence, contemplating the scale of their loss. An entire troop had been wiped out with the exception of Aramis and, possibly, Marsac. Athos was at a loss to understand how Marsac could have left a clearly wounded man, if indeed that was what had happened. He felt the first stirrings of anger. If they hadn't come looking Aramis would have perished, alone and believing himself to have been abandoned.

Towards midnight Aramis started to stir. Athos was still awake, keeping vigil with Porthos who had refused to relinquish his post. When Aramis opened his eyes it was clear that he was disorientated and confused. He tried to pull away from Porthos, making indistinct sounds of distress.

"It's alright, Aramis. It's Porthos and I've got you. Athos is here too. See?"

The weak struggles subsided as Aramis' gaze locked on Athos. He sagged in Porthos' arms although there was still a wild unfocused quality to his eyes. He looked around him and Athos had the feeling that he was still seeing bodies strewn about the glade. After all, that was the sight that had surrounded him for god knows how many days and nights.

"How do you feel?" They hadn't yet removed the bandage, which was firmly stuck to the wound and Athos was sure it was only the chill in the air that had slowed the bleeding to a manageable level. He was impressed with Aramis' fortitude that had kept him alive this long. The days had started to become warmer but it was still chilly at night and the temperature had not yet risen enough to melt the thin layer of snow coating the grass.

Aramis simply stared at him silently.

"Now that you're awake we should change your bandage. I'll fetch some water. We will have to soak it in order to remove it."

A shaky hand reached up finger the dirty cloth around his head. "Shot," Aramis mumbled, his voice scratchy.

Athos immediately offered him a water skin and Porthos helped guide it to his mouth. After taking a couple of sips Aramis pushed it away weakly. He sat silent and unmoving while Athos tended to his wound but his eyes ranged ceaselessly around the glade, alighting every so often on a patch of snow that still bore signs of spilled blood. He was shaking and Athos didn't think it was just from the cold.

"The edges are a little red but it is in remarkably good condition," Athos reported. "It will need stitches though and the Captain is the most skilled at needlework."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Porthos still sat behind Aramis with the marksman pulled against his chest.

The silence stretched on for a long time and, when Aramis showed no signs of answering, Athos exchanged a worried look with Porthos.

"Who attacked you?" he asked.

"Wore masks." Aramis eyes kept drifting shut and his head was drooping.

"Get some rest," Athos advised. "We can talk in the morning."

When morning arrived Aramis remained asleep. He was no longer shivering and there were no signs of a fever. Porthos laid him down by the remains of the fire and tucked the blankets around him.

"Come and get some breakfast," Athos suggested.

Porthos joined him and they broke their fast on porridge and hard bread but it wasn't long before Porthos returned to Aramis' side. Treville despatched two men to find the nearest village. They needed coffins and carts if they were to take their brothers back to Paris for burial.

When Aramis woke Porthos encouraged him to eat and then helped him to stand so that he could tend to his personal needs. They returned to the glade walking slowly with Porthos' arm wrapped firmly around Aramis' waist.

"I need to see them," Aramis whispered, the first words he had spoken since waking.

As they approached the bodies Aramis made the sign of the cross then slipped to his knees and bowed his head. Porthos stood behind him with a hand on his shoulder. When Treville approached Porthos glared at him but the Captain was not to be discouraged.

"It's good to see you awake, Aramis."

When there was no reaction Treville looked questioningly at Porthos.

"He hasn't said a whole lot," Porthos said. "Reckon he's in shock."

Treville nodded. "Aramis. Where is Marsac? Was he wounded too?"

Aramis stirred slightly under Porthos' hand. "Gone."

"He left you?" Porthos asked, shocked.

"He couldn't cope with all the death," Aramis said flatly. He didn't sound angry, just sorrowful.

"He's a deserter and a coward. A Musketeer doesn't leave a wounded brother alone." Treville's voice was full of anger and scorn.

No word of disagreement came from Aramis who was staring fixedly at the bodies. Flies buzzed around them but at least the presence of the Musketeers had frightened away the birds. Aramis stayed there for a long time until Porthos gently drew him to his feet and took him back to the fire. Athos joined them shortly afterwards and they kept a silent vigil with their friend until exhaustion overcame him and he once more slipped into a healing sleep.

TMTMTM

 _ **Musketeer Garrison 1630**_

"It was weeks before he was able to tell us what happened," Athos said, looking with concern at their friend.

"Well this time we know what happened and he'll be blamin' himself for it."

"We can't let him wallow in grief. I'm afraid it will break him." Athos walked over to Aramis and stood looking down at him. "Will you let us help prepare Marsac for burial?"

"It's my responsibility." Aramis spoke so low that Athos had to strain to hear him.

"You don't have to do it alone."

"I will be fine."

"You're a long way from bein' fine." Porthos joined them beside the bed. "These last few days have been hard on you."

Aramis looked up, his eyes heavily lidded. "I shot him."

"You saved the Captain's life."

"You don't understand. Marsac could have killed me but he didn't. I think he was ready for it to be over."

"His life was forfeit anyway," Athos said. "He was branded a deserter and he tried to kill the Duke of Savoy. You couldn't save him, Aramis."

Aramis rubbed his hand over his forehead and grimaced. In addition to feeling drained he had a pounding headache which had been plaguing him ever since Marsac had knocked him out. He knew his friends were worried about him and wished he had the energy to reassure them. He stood up unsteadily.

"I need air." He walked outside to find it was raining again but even the dim light made him crinkle up his eyes as his headache intensified. The pain and his unsettled emotions combined to make him feel sick and he clung desperately onto one of the support posts.

"You are unwell." Athos came to a halt beside him. "It is understandable. You should rest."

"I will rest once I've…" he leaned forward as bile rushed up his throat and spewed forth in a foul smelling fountain.

"Come and sit." Athos guided him to a bench and pressed him down onto it.

He hunched forward, feeling sweat blanketing his forehead. His stomach continued to roil and he swallowed convulsively to prevent any further embarrassment. "Thank you." A cup of water was pressed into his hands and he sipped at it to remove the disgusting taste from his mouth.

"I don't pretend to know what you're going through but just know this, my brother, this time you are not alone."

"Damn right," Porthos added.

For the first time since he had pulled the trigger he felt a stirring of hope. He suspected that Marsac had been dead inside long before the fatal shot had been fired. It would be so easy to follow him into that terrible oblivion but he was lucky. He had brothers who loved him and wouldn't allow him to suffer alone. The terrible memories of Savoy would never entirely leave him and Marsac's death would compound them at least for a while. But, while he had his brothers by his side he would endure. Although he still felt wretchedly ill he knew it would pass. For now, though, he had his duty to perform.

"I need to do this alone," he said.

They acquiesced even though he knew they wouldn't stray far. Once back in the infirmary he poured water into a bowl and set about stripping Marsac's shirt from his body. When the fatal wound was revealed he again had to struggle to tame his rebellious stomach. He fetched a cloth, dipped it in the water and began to wash away the blood. Marsac looked to be at peace for the first time since his return and Aramis was grateful for that.

His head continued to throb and he had no doubt that a bruise was forming on his tender jaw. He wondered if he could have handled things differently but Marsac had deserved to know the truth. Perhaps he should have anticipated the blow that had felled him. After all Marsac had been consumed by his need for vengeance and had already killed in pursuit of it. He thought back to the morning after the massacre when his friend had stripped off his uniform and fled. Would things have turned out differently if he had stopped him that day? He closed his eyes against the pain, both physical and emotional. What was done was done and there was no changing it. In a low voice he chanted a prayer for the dead while he held tightly to the crucifix gifted to him by the Queen. Gradually the solace of his religion stole over him and brought him a measure of peace.

When he had finished preparing the body he walked outside to find Athos and Porthos waiting patiently for him. There was no sign of Treville for which he was grateful. He didn't think he was ready to face the Captain yet.

"Now you will rest," Athos said quietly.

They followed him to his room where he stripped off his weapons, coat and boots and lay down. Porthos brought a cool damp cloth and laid it on his overheated forehead. He sighed contentedly.

"Sleep, my friend. We will be here when you wake," Athos said.

He closed his eyes and allowed the love of his brothers to lull him into a peaceful slumber.

The End


	6. Chapter 6

This is set after episode 1.5, The Homecoming.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Six**

Porthos couldn't help the wide grin that graced his face when they entered the garrison. There had been a couple of times during the last few days when he had believed he would never return here. His involuntary visit to the Court of Miracles had only reinforced his love for the regiment and his brothers and the thought of losing it all had been a hard burden to carry.

"Porthos. My office."

He looked up to the balcony where the Captain stood and nodded to show he had heard the order.

"Now you are most certainly in trouble, my friend," Aramis said cheerfully.

"Yes, I imagine the Captain is going to have a few things to say about this fiasco." Athos patted him on the shoulder. "You'd better not keep him waiting."

"Now you've just gone and depressed me," Porthos grumbled.

"At least you're not facing the hangman," d'Artagnan said.

"You're not helpin'" He climbed the stairs and knocked on the open door.

"Come in, Porthos."

Treville sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable. Porthos stopped a foot away and stood at attention.

"The King has issued a pardon. De Mauvoisin confessed before he shot himself. I assume the others filled you in on what happened?"

"They did. How could a man kill his own son?"

Treville shook his head. "I don't know. He seemed to be obsessed with restoring the family fortune and had broken with his son when Jean converted to Protestantism."

"Still doesn't explain it."

"I know. What happened at the Court?"

Porthos grew sombre. "Charon, that's their king, he took money from De Mauvoisin to smuggle in gunpowder. He was goin' to blow it to hell along with everyone who lived there. Athos and the others turned up in time to stop De Mauvoisin's men from lightin' the fuses."

"What happened to Charon?"

"He's dead." Porthos didn't feel like elaborating and was happy when Treville didn't push him.

"When I was at the Palace I got the sense that Richelieu had been behind the whole scheme. The King wants the Court cleared for redevelopment."

"That sounds about right."

"Louis won't be happy when he hears that the Cardinal's scheme failed."

"I can't see the King bein' complicit in a plot to murder hundreds of his subjects." Porthos had mixed views about the King's maturity but didn't see him as a wilfully cruel man. The Cardinal, on the other hand, had no conscience.

"Neither can I." Treville looked at all the paperwork waiting for his attention and gave a brief sigh. "Well it's good to have you back."

"I want to thank you for standin' up for me, Captain. It meant a lot hearin' you arguin' with that judge on my behalf."

"I will never believe you to be capable of murder no matter how much you've had to drink."

Porthos gave a half-smile. "Your faith in me is touchin'"

"Get out of here," Treville said, although there was a fond aspect to his voice. "Take the rest of the day to recover from your ordeal. The four of you are back on duty tomorrow. I expect to see you all at morning muster."

"Thank you, Captain."

His friends were waiting for him at the table in the yard. Flasks of wine and cups littered the tabletop and he licked his lips in anticipation. The wine at the Court had been coarse and the ale sour. They all looked up expectantly when he appeared.

"What punishment did he give you?" Aramis asked.

"None. He just wanted me to know that I'd been pardoned."

"He must be growing soft in his old age." Aramis picked up a flask and poured the wine.

"What happened to De Mauvoisin?" Athos asked.

"Shot himself apparently. Seems he had some honour after all."

Aramis drained half his wine before setting the cup back on the table. "That man I killed. Who was he?"

"His name was Charon. He was the king and the man responsible for almost destroyin' the Court."

"Why was he trying to kill you?" d'Artagnan asked.

"That's a long story."

"We have time. If, of course, you want to tell us." Athos refilled the cups and looked expectantly at Porthos.

He'd told his friends very little about his life prior to joining the army but they had risked their lives to save him and the Court. He reckoned that they deserved to know some of it. "Charon and I grew up together. We were both orphans so we looked out for each other. Eventually we pretty much ran the streets. We made a livin' by stealin' and cheatin' people. Life was hard. There was nothin' honourable about what we did." Porthos shrugged. "It was the only way we had to survive."

"What about the woman you were talking to before we left?" Aramis asked. He was fascinated by this rare glimpse into Porthos' past. It never ceased to amaze him that someone from the streets could have turned into such a fine soldier and loyal friend. It was a wonder that it hadn't scarred Porthos for life.

"Flea? She's what really came between me and Charon in the end. We got together, see? Charon didn't like that. He wanted her for himself but she wasn't interested." At least she hadn't been until he'd left. "I tried to persuade her to leave with me. She wouldn't have any of it though. Said she was where she belonged."

"None of that explains why Charon tried to kill you. Particularly after he was the one who saved you from the Red Guard." It hurt Athos to think about the hardships Porthos had endured as a child. He couldn't imagine it, having come from a life of privilege and luxury. Since becoming a Musketeer he had seen the seedy side of Paris often enough but he was still insulated to it by his profession. How had an orphaned five year old survived? He could only be grateful that somehow Porthos had not only endured but flourished.

"He was desperate. He'd grown tired of the misery and poverty in the Court so when De Mauvoisin approached him and offered money he accepted. He smuggled the gunpowder in and was willin' to see everyone else die so that he could have a new life."

"He doesn't sound very stable," d'Artagnan said.

"Maybe he wasn't. It didn't help that Flea and I…well, we spent the night together. Then I found out about his plan and stopped him from lightin' the fuses. I don't think he could forgive that."

"He was your friend," Aramis said softly. "I'm sorry I killed him."

"You've nothin' to apologise for. He was tryin' to kill me. You saved my life."

"It was pure instinct," Athos said. "Any of us would have done the same."

Despite Athos' assurance Aramis still felt a measure of guilt. He wasn't a man who could look lightly on the taking of a life. It had been instinct. He'd seen Charon charging at Porthos holding a knife. When Porthos stepped to the side he'd raised his sword without thinking. As a soldier he knew how having quick reflexes could save your life or the lives of your colleagues. Still, he wondered if he had, on this occasion, over reacted to the threat. He crossed himself and thought about his next confession.

"Don't you go beatin' yourself up," Porthos said sternly. "He'd lost his one chance of escapin' the Court. I don't think he really wanted to go on livin'."

"You don't have to be kind," Aramis said, his conscience continuing to flay him.

"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true," Porthos argued. "You know me. I'm all for plain speakin'."

"He's right, Aramis." D'Artagnan laid a hand on the marksman's arm. "You should listen to him."

Aramis bowed his head, humbled by the support of his brothers. He drew in a deep breath. "Very well. I will endeavour to do as you ask."

"Good 'cause I'm starvin'," Porthos grinned happily at him. "How about we find a tavern and get somethin' to eat."

"On one condition," Athos said. "No more shooting melons. I think we've had quite enough excitement recently."

Porthos stood up and slung an arm around Aramis' shoulder. "Still think we should try it blindfolded."

"Is the blindfold for you or me?"

"What do you think? Maybe on my next birthday." He steered Aramis towards the archway.

Athos raised an eyebrow and his gaze me that of d'Artagnan. "God help us," he said before following his friends out into the streets of Paris.

The End


	7. Chapter 7

This is a series of missing scenes for The Exiles.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Seven**

Aramis hurried through the streets surrounded by his friends, his mind running through the various scenarios. If they took Agnes and baby Henry to the palace and announced his paternity there would be mayhem. No doubt Marie de Medici would be delighted. It would give her the opportunity to depose Louis and declare a Regency. How a mother could be so coldly calculating was something Aramis couldn't fathom. Worse, though, was handing the child over to Richelieu. The Cardinal would take immediate steps to dispose of the boy and his mother.

"You know this is wrong," he said.

Athos pulled him to a standstill. "We have our orders. This is the rightful King of France we're talking about."

"He's a baby. For pity's sake, Athos, can't you see that we're condemning him to death?"

"We don't know that," d'Artagnan said.

"Don't be naive. The Queen Mother and the Cardinal are at each other's throats. Neither one will want to surrender the advantage. If she gets hold of the baby he will become a pawn. If the Cardinal gets him in his clutches we will have signed his death warrant. Richelieu will do anything to keep Louis in power. Either Agnes and Henry die or we risk civil war. How is that doing our duty as Musketeers?"

"You're too close to this, Aramis. Why don't you leave it to us?" Athos suggested.

"No. I promised Agnes that she and the baby would be safe. I'm not abandoning them."

"Very well. We'll give you a few minutes to prepare her." Athos looked at his friend sympathetically.

They arrived back at the Bonacieux house. Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan stopped in the yard, allowing Aramis to enter alone. He found Agnes singing softly to the baby who lay quietly in his crib.

"We have to leave," he said.

She looked at him quizzically. "Are we going to the palace?"

"No. Listen, Agnes, you have to trust me." Aramis began to unbuckle his pauldron.

"What are you doing?"

"Where we're going it is better that no-one knows I'm a Musketeer." He left the room briefly to collect a plain cloak that was hanging by the front door.

"Quickly now." He draped Agnes' cloak over her shoulders. "And keep Henry quiet."

"What about the others?"

"They have other duties to attend to." He glanced out the window to see his three friends deep in conversation. None were looking in the direction of the house.

"I don't understand where we're going," Agnes said as Aramis hustled her towards the back door.

"Someplace safe." He lifted her hood and arranged it so that it obscured her features.

"But, I want to go home."

"I know." He put out a hand to stop her and peered out the door. Satisfied that the way was clear he chivvied her forward again. "Keep walking and don't look back." He took her arm and walked quickly down the road, not relaxing until they had turned a corner.

It wasn't a long walk to the river and it was accomplished in silence. Once they arrived at the encampment he left her to find someone who could arrange passage out of the country. After speaking to a few people he was directed to a man who was standing close to the bridge.

"I am looking for passage to Spain for a woman and her child." He upended his purse and let his meagre collection of coins fall into his palm.

The man sneered. "That wouldn't pay for the child."

"He's only a baby. Please, their lives are in danger. I have to get them out of the country."

"I don't know. Sea travel's expensive."

"What if I throw in my pistol? It's good quality, the finest workmanship."

"Let's see it then."

Aramis unhooked his pistol from his belt without any hesitation. He loved the weapon but cared more for the safety of Agnes and Henry.

The man looked it over carefully. "It might do. What else you got?"

He couldn't relinquish his sword which might be needed for self-defence so he drew his main gauche. "That's all."

"Deal."

Aramis took back his pistol and knife before handing over the money. "The rest when my friends are on their way to Spain."

After concluding his transaction he returned to Agnes. Their argument about her leaving took a turn he deeply regretted. He would never forget the fear on her face when he explained that she and Henry would die unless they left the country. He was still full of self-loathing when his friends turned up. He readied himself for the inevitable fight only to find that they were supportive, albeit censorious of his decision to leave without telling them. Then Vincent and his men appeared and Aramis knew they were out of time. They had to find a way to get Agnes and Henry across the bridge without Vincent catching them.

The barrels of brandy sparked the first inklings of a plan. He drew Athos to one side. "I'll persuade Agnes to cross the bridge without the baby. Porthos and d'Artagnan will create a diversion before I ride across ostensibly carrying Henry."

"What do you mean 'ostensibly'?"

"I can't risk him in the middle of what is sure to be a fight. He'll have to stay here with you." He endured Athos' 'you have to be joking' stare without flinching.

"You can't be serious. I don't know what to do with a baby. I've never even held one."

"It isn't hard. Take him back to Constance. She'll look after him until we can reunite him with his mother."

"This is a really bad idea, Aramis. I can't be trusted to get him away from here."

"Why? Are you drunk?" Aramis put his hands on his hips and glared at his friend. "I didn't think so. You will be fine."

"What if he needs feeding? Or, you know, he soils himself."

"Babies do that all the time. It really isn't anything to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," Athos said stiffly. "I'm merely questioning the feasibility of your plan."

"We don't have time to argue. Vincent's men are searching the camp."

"Fine, but if anything happens to him it will be on your head."

"One more thing. We can't tell Agnes. This has to look authentic or they won't believe it."

"You would be that cruel?"

"If it means keeping them safe, yes." With a stiff nod to his friend he returned to Agnes who was clutching the baby to her chest, her eyes wide and fearful.

"Give him to me," Aramis said gently. "You will go over the bridge first then I will bring Henry." He held out his hands. "I promise I will see you safely reunited."

She kissed her son on the head and handed him over with such implicit trust that it made his heart ache for the deception he was about to play on her. In the end it was every bit as bad as he had expected. The apparent loss of her child in such a brutal fashion had broken something inside her and she had fought like a wildcat when he stopped her flinging herself in the river. She clung to him as she sobbed brokenly and it took every ounce of self-control not to break down and tell her the truth. Eventually the tears stopped and she sat huddled in a heap, staring listlessly ahead of her.

"There is a meadow about a mile north of here. I want you to go there and wait for me," Aramis said, hunkering down so that he was at her eye level. "We will bring you money and supplies for your journey."

"Where am I to go?" She looked at him out of red-rimmed eyes. "I have lost Philippe and now Henry. What will I do?"

"We will discuss that later. I'm sorry to leave you alone but we have to report to the palace. Marie de Medici has to know that her plans have failed."

"I don't care about her."

"No, I don't suppose you do." He exchanged quick glances with Porthos and d'Artagnan, both of whom still believed that the child had perished. They looked grief stricken and Porthos came to lay a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

Once Agnes was on her way he gave a deep sigh.

"Where's Athos?" Porthos asked.

"Hopefully at the Bonacieux house with baby Henry."

"What're you talkin' about? We saw…"

"You and Vincent saw what you were meant to see. Do you really think I would take a baby into battle?"

"But Agnes believes you did." D'Artagnan looked at him disapprovingly. "That was heartless."

"It was necessary. They won't be safe until Marie de Medici leaves and everyone believes the child died."

"How could you do that to her?" Porthos asked.

"Believe me, it wasn't easy. Now, are you coming? The sooner we get news to the palace the better. Then we can reunite mother and son."

They found Athos pacing the floor, arms full of crying baby. He gave them a look of utter relief and thrust the child at Aramis.

"He's hungry. Constance has gone to speak to a friend of hers who recently had a baby. Who'd have thought that something that small could make so much noise?"

"He's missing his mother." Aramis cradled Henry and began to sing him a Spanish lullaby. The child hiccoughed and stopped crying.

"It seems you have a knack with babies," Athos observed drily.

Aramis didn't respond. He was suddenly overcome with the memories that had been tormenting him ever since meeting Agnes and her son. What would it have been like to hold his own child? He had been so young when Isabelle fell pregnant and hadn't the first notion how to be a father. Yet, he had still been heartbroken when she told him the child was gone. Then, she had disappeared and his life had completely changed. He cuddled Henry tighter. Had Isabelle regretted the loss of the baby? She had seemed so calm the day she told him. He wondered if she had found happiness someplace else. If she had a family. It was something that he seemed destined to be denied. He knew that Agnes would welcome him once Henry was returned to her. He was being offered the chance to have a family of his own yet he knew he could never go with her. He belonged here with his brothers.

His thoughts were interrupted by Constance's return with the news that her friend had agreed to be a temporary wet nurse for the baby.

"I'll take him now," she said.

Aramis relinquished the child with great reluctance. "Take good care of him."

"Of course. Now, don't you have things to do?"

"We'll go to the garrison first and tell Treville," Athos said.

And so they performed their duty for the rightful King of France. Was it treason to reunite him with his mother and send them on their way to Spain? Perhaps, but it save a little boy and they could live with that.

The End.


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter contains spoilers for Season 3. I had intended to write these stories in the same order as the episodes but this one was just begging to be written. It is a tag to 3.4, The Queen's Diamonds.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Eight**

Athos was angry. He had just spent the past two hours searching among dead bodies to find the money hidden by Bonnaire, but that wasn't the worst of it. He dismounted in the garrison courtyard wanting nothing more than to have a long hot bath. Unfortunately there was a problem that he'd ignored for too long and which was beginning to fester.

"Aramis. I'd like to speak to you in my office."

He caught the look of trepidation the marksman shared with Porthos before Aramis nodded and fell into step at his side. They climbed the stairs in uneasy silence. Once inside the room Athos made his way to his chair, holding up a hand when Aramis would have taken a seat on the other side of the desk.

"I would prefer you to stand."

There was a flash of surprise and resentment before Aramis schooled his features into a mask of neutrality.

"What can I do for you, Captain?"

Athos frowned at the emphasis on the final word. "Do we have a problem?"

"I don't understand."

"You have publically disagreed with me twice now. I won't stand for it a third time."

Aramis flushed angrily. "I was offering my opinion."

"An opinion which was not sought. Do you resent the fact that I was promoted to Captain? I would remind you that it happened after you left us, so I can't imagine you feel slighted."

"Of course I don't resent it. The promotion was well deserved."

"Yet, you seem to be having trouble offering me the respect due to my position." He noticed that Aramis couldn't look him in the eye.

"I told you. I have trouble obeying orders."

"You exhibited no trouble when Treville was in charge. The only time I saw you challenging him was when Marsac returned and, for that, I can see you had valid reasons. You have been a soldier for most of your adult life. It is a soldier's duty to obey orders. You know this. So, explain to me why you are undermining my authority."

"You were upsetting Pauline."

"I was doing my duty as a King's Musketeer. Your interference made my task that much more difficult."

"You got what you wanted. The diamond was returned. Why can't we leave it at that?"

"If it had been anyone else I would have brought them up on a charge."

That elicited a look of shock. "Are you saying you are giving me preferential treatment? Because it certainly doesn't feel like it."

Athos sighed and sat back. "You have been away a long time, Aramis. Perhaps you have forgotten how to be a soldier."

"Are you suggesting that I'm not fit to be a Musketeer?"

"Of course not. I am asking that you do me the courtesy of respecting my rank. Like it or not, we are at war even here in Paris. The chain of command is essential to maintaining order. You are my friend and brother but there will be consequences if it happens again."

"I understand. If that is all, may I be excused?"

Aramis' tone cut Athos to the quick but he couldn't afford the luxury of allowing his hurt feelings to show. "Yes."

TMTMTM

Aramis was shaking as he walked back down to the yard. He had rarely been so angry with one of his friends. He recognised that some of his anger came from the events of the day. He had been forced to watch helplessly as Pauline was arrested for murder. Her fate was uncertain although he had promised to speak in her defence. Now, on top of all that, he had been chastised by one of his closest friends for speaking out against the unreasonable expectations of the King.

His footsteps slowed when he saw Porthos sitting at the table in the yard. A bottle of wine and two cups stood waiting. There was no sign of d'Artagnan.

"Reckon you could use a drink," Porthos said, picking up the bottle and pouring the wine.

Aramis took a seat opposite before draining his cup, setting it back on the table and reaching for the bottle. "You know what Athos wanted?"

"I can guess. You shouldn't have crossed him this afternoon."

"That man had paid for the diamond in good faith. He'd just presented it as a wedding gift. How was it just to take it from him?"

"The diamond belongs to the Queen of England. We were tasked with recovering it. What was Athos supposed to do?"

"He could have chosen to turn a blind eye. There was a time when he'd have done that. Think about how often we disobeyed orders in the past. Just look at what we did with Bonnaire. We handed him over to the Spanish even though he was working for the Cardinal."

"Times have changed. D'you think it was easy for Athos to become Captain? Not only was he thrown into the middle of a war but he had to overcome the prejudice of some of the men who saw him only as a drunkard. He worked hard to gain their respect. Now he's back in Paris dealing with a load of raw recruits who've never had to answer to any authority but Constance. What kind of example do you think it sets if we don't treat him the same way we treated Treville?"

"This is different."

"No, it isn't. You know what it's like to fight in a war. You're given your orders and you obey them even if you disagree with them. Athos gives us a lot of slack. In private we can debate with him and even argue, but not in public. I'm guessin' it was the same with your Abbot. Look, I know it's hard for you to come back and answer to a man who used to be your equal but that's the way it is."

Aramis stared into his wine. "It is an adjustment," he conceded. "I'm not sure, though, why I am finding it so difficult."

"Perhaps because you were forced into obedience for four years."

Aramis shook his head. "The Abbot was a fair man. He encouraged debate although the final decision was his. I tried to warn him, you know. After I saw the slaughter of the troop of Musketeers I tried to persuade him to leave the monastery. I knew it wasn't safe. He wouldn't listen to me. He said that God would watch over us."

"Do you feel guilty?"

Aramis frowned in thought. "I hadn't considered that."

"Maybe deep down you feel that if you'd challenged his orders more vigorously he'd have listened."

"I did all I could to persuade him. He chose to see the good in people whereas we know there is much evil in the world."

"Athos isn't goin' to make a mistake. He's a good Captain who makes sensible decisions. He doesn't need you to act as his conscience."

Aramis' head shot up. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Arguing with him for the good of his soul?"

"Perhaps."

Aramis shook his head. "I would never be that presumptuous. No, I think it's that I feel adrift. You were right back at the monastery. You did all learn to live without me but I don't think I ever truly learned to live without the three of you."

"That's in the past."

"Is it? You have all grown closer after four years of war. It makes me angry to think about what I threw away."

"You had your reasons."

"Yes, I did. Turns out though that they were the wrong ones. Now I'm struggling to find my place."

"And, you think by disobeying Athos you can find it?"

"I want things to be as they were before," Aramis said plaintively. "There have been so many changes both in the regiment and in the city. It is unsettling."

"We'll deal with Feron, but first you need to come to terms with the fact that Athos is in charge."

Aramis gave a deep sigh. "I really was insubordinate this afternoon, wasn't I?"

"Yeah, and Athos was mad as hell about it. Not that you'd have known it by lookin' at him."

"I owe him an apology." Aramis finished his wine and stood up. "Better now than later I think." He patted Porthos on the shoulder on his way past. "Thank you, my friend."

"What did I do?"

"You helped me to see the error of my ways." He climbed the stairs and hesitated outside Athos' door. Taking a deep breath he knocked and waited.

"Come."

Athos sounded harassed and couldn't hide his surprise when Aramis walked into the room. The marksman stopped a foot from the table and stood to attention although his gaze sought out his friend.

"I thought we were finished for the night," Athos said. His desk was now strewn with papers and there was ink on his fingers.

"I'm sorry. I see now that my behaviour was an embarrassment."

Athos released the piece of parchment he had been reading and let it fall to the desk. "What brought you to that conclusion?"

"I spoke to Porthos."

"I see. Do I take it that it won't happen again?"

A slight smile appeared on Aramis' lips. "I will endeavour to remember my place."

Athos laid his hands flat on the wood and leaned forward. "You make it sound like you're my servant. I don't want subservience from you. I welcome your ideas and cherish our debates. But it cannot happen in public."

"I understand."

"Then you are forgiven."

Aramis relaxed his rigid posture. "Thank you. Now, tell me, what can I do to assist you?"

"I have received orders to send more weapons to the front. As far as I can tell no-one has done an inventory of the armoury in years."

"Then that shall be my penance." Aramis held out his hand for the letter.

Athos nodded and for the first time that evening he smiled. "It's good to have you back, brother."

The End.


	9. Chapter 9

Spoilers for Season 3. This is set immediately after the end of Prisoners of War. It annoyed me that no-one offered any comfort to Aramis after his ordeal. Unfortunately there turned out not to be much comfort offered in this story either.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Nine**

It wasn't until he arrived back at the garrison that Aramis gave in to his exhaustion. He'd been Grimaud's prisoner for more than a day and had only managed to snatch a few minutes' fitful sleep in all that time. When strung up like an animal awaiting slaughter rest was hard to come by.

He gratefully handed his horse over to the stable boy and looked around the empty yard, pathetically sad that his friends weren't there. His fractious interview with Minister Treville had sapped the last of his strength. Prior to that his energy had been fueled by fear for the Queen's safety. He would gladly kill whoever had been responsible for those disgusting pamphlets.

Despite the lure of his bed he realized that he hadn't eaten for two days and turned towards the kitchen. Constance always left some food for those who came and went at odd hours. He found chicken, ham and bread before dropping heavily into a chair. When the door opened to admit Brujon Aramis gave a tired nod of greeting.

"It's good to see you," the cadet said. "We were worried."

"Thank you." He wouldn't admit to his own worry. He had hoped and prayed that Athos wouldn't acquiesce to the blackmail. He would gladly have given his life to thwart Grimaud's ambitions and had resigned himself to that fate. "Do you know where the Captain is?"

"He's tending Sylvie."

"Sylvie? What happened to her?"

"She was flogged by order of the King. They say she was responsible for scurrilous rumours about the Queen."

Aramis' anger immediately rose and just as quickly subsided. Sylvie was known to speak sedition but would she really stoop so low as to attack the Queen in that way? His interactions with her suggested she would not and it would be unfair to judge her without proof. He thought fleetingly of offering his aid but quickly dismissed the idea. He was too tired and sore to be of any help right now. "Porthos? D'Artagnan?"

D'Artagnan and Madam D'Artagnan are together in their quarters. I haven't see Porthos since you returned this afternoon."

It was probably for the best. He was still angry with Porthos for hesitating in taking his shot. He rose unsteadily to his feet. "I will see you in the morning."

"Good night."

His room was cool, quiet and very welcoming. He undid the buckles of his doublet with shaky hands, hesitating before removing it. The strain on his shoulders and wrists had been severe and he was somewhat surprised that he hadn't pulled any of the joints out of their sockets. Flexing his shoulders was agony and he wasn't looking forward to an increase in the pain when he removed his arms from the sleeves. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he pushed his doublet off his left arm. The spike of pain was so bad that his senses reeled and he had to stumble over to the bed to avoid blacking out. Sweat formed on his brow and black spots danced before his eyes. It was only once the excruciating agony had dimmed that he was able to slide his doublet off his right arm.

The skin on his wrists had been somewhat protected by the fact the shackles had been fastened over his gloves but there were still circular bruises which were tender to the touch. Aramis considered removing his shirt and decided against it. The thought of lifting his arms above head height was not appealing. Even bending down to remove his boots was a challenge, not least because of an aching around his ribs. Grimaud had struck his torso on more than one occasion during his captivity and he didn't doubt that it would have left bruising. Now that he was in a quiet environment he could hear a faint ringing caused by the discharge of a pistol right next to his ear. It was irritating and he hoped it would soon abate.

He had only just lowered his aching body to the mattress when there was a thunderous knock at his door. His first instinct was not to answer but his innate good manners got the better of him. "Come in."

It was no surprise when Porthos entered the room. Not feeling like making any concessions Aramis remained where he was.

"I've come to see if you're alright."

Aramis' first traitorous thought was this it was a bit late to be asking. Where had Porthos been when he had been almost too weak to dismount upon their return to the garrison? Not one of his three friends had even bothered to stop and ask if he needed assistance. It appeared they were as angry with him as he was with them.

"I will be fine after a night's sleep."

Porthos accepted that without questions. "What the hell did you think you were doin' tradin' messages with the Spanish?"

"I was trying to end the war."

"You kept secrets from us. Athos isn't happy."

"I don't really care if he's happy or not," Aramis said defensively. "The Queen asked for my aid and I provided it."

"And walked right into a trap."

"Yes, well admittedly that wasn't my finest hour."

"You could have cost us the Spanish Generals. God knows what use Grimaud would have made of them."

"You didn't have to come after me." Aramis could feel his anger getting the better of him.

"You thought we'd just leave you there?" Porthos' voice was also rising.

"I hoped you would. Just like I hoped you'd have done your duty and shot Grimaud when you had the chance."

"The only way I could have shot him was to shoot you first!"

"Which is exactly what I begged you to do."

"It was never goin' to happen."

"Don't you understand how much of a threat Grimaud is?" Aramis asked passionately. "He's already killed Feron and now he's working with Gaston and Lorraine. If they attack Paris, I doubt we can hold out."

"You're givin' too much credit to one man. Killin' him wouldn't have stopped Gaston and Lorraine."

"We don't know that because you wouldn't do your duty." He winced and bit back a groan as he levered himself up into a sitting position.

Porthos narrowed his eyes. "You're hurt."

"Of course I'm hurt. Do you really think Grimaud treated me well? I spent a day hanging from my wrists." The words escaped before he could stop them.

"Let me see."

"I don't need any help."

"When did you become so damned stubborn?"

The question gave Aramis pause. He and Porthos had never managed to recapture their old camaraderie. Oh, they had both made an effort but things weren't the same. In fact, nothing had been the same. D'Artagnan was married and spent every spare moment with Constance. Athos vacillated between having a relationship with Sylvie and brooding because he had severed ties with her again. He was having trouble adjusting to Athos being the Captain and had proved quite incapable of resisting the urge to question orders. Porthos had grown more serious and introspective after enduring four years of war.

"Perhaps I have always been stubborn and you just chose not to notice."

Porthos shook his head. "No, things have changed since you came back. Only thing that's stayed the same is that you lied to us again."

"We each serve the crown in our own way." He wasn't prepared to justify himself any further. If Porthos couldn't understand his motivation that was too bad. The accusation hurt though. How many times had he begged the Queen to tell Louis and Treville what she was doing? Each time she had entreated his silence and he was helpless to resist her. He'd been involved in affairs of state. What right did Porthos have to judge him?

"Seein' how you don't want anyone's help I'll leave you alone." Porthos' expression was thunderous.

"That would be for the best."

Porthos slammed the door on his way out and Aramis sighed. They should be united with a common goal but he couldn't help feeling that they were drifting ever further apart. He lay down, closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him.

The End


	10. Chapter 10

This little story picks up immediately after the end of 3.9 so contains major spoilers for season 3.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Ten**

Icy tendrils which had nothing to do with the weather, tiptoed down Athos' spine as he stood in shocked silence.

"We can't just leave him here." D'Artagnan's breath hitched as he turned his tear stained face to Athos.

"We won't," he reassured the young man although he noticed that his voice seemed to be coming from very far away. He felt oddly detached from the events surrounding him. "See if you can find a cloak or blanket to cover him."

D'Artagnan was on his feet quickly, eager to perform whatever service he could for their fallen leader.

"Aramis?"

The marksman looked up, his new rosary clutched in his hand a prayer on his lips.

"We need a cart."

For a brief moment Aramis looked at him in a daze before he nodded and climbed unsteadily to his feet.

Left alone with Treville's body Athos collapsed heavily to the ground. Numbness was giving way to sorrow and anger. He ran a hand through his hair and bowed his head. Treville had been far more than their Captain and Minister. He had been the one who had molded them into Musketeers. He had taken a pathetic drink-sodden wretch and shown faith that there was something worth saving. Although they hadn't always seen eye to eye Athos liked to think they had become friends. Now his friend was gone, having given his life to save the King…to save Aramis' son.

It all came back to that night in the convent but he couldn't find it in him to blame Aramis or the Queen. If Louis had died childless Gaston would have inherited the throne and that wasn't an appealing thought. Better a child and a regency than that. At least the King was safe with Porthos. He wondered what had happened to Lorraine. Treville had been convinced the Duke was an honourable man with whom he could strike a deal. Had Grimaud's intervention prevented that?

Grimaud! Athos swore that he would find and kill him. The man had been dogging their footsteps since the battle outside Douai. His had had been clear in every disaster that befell them.

Footsteps behind him had him on high alert. He rose quickly, his hand going to his sword. He relaxed only when he saw it was d'Artagnan. The young man draped a blanket carefully over Treville, hiding his face and the wounds that had killed him.

"Grimaud and his men have fled," d'Artagnan said, his voice steadier now. "Lorraine is dead by Grimaud's hand."

"Gaston?"

"There is no sign of him."

"I'm sure the Queen will deal with him in due course. With Treville gone she will be named Regent."

"Do you think Porthos and the King are safe?"

"Porthos won't let any harm come to the boy."

They kept vigil until Aramis arrived driving a wagon. With great care Athos and d'Artagnan lifted Treville's body into it. D'Artagnan climbed in after it while Athos tied their horses to the rear and then joined Aramis on the bench seat.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked.

"He died to protect my son," Aramis said, his expression stricken.

Athos squeezed his shoulder. "No, Aramis. He died protecting the King. Never forget that."

"How do we tell Porthos?"

"Porthos is a soldier. He must have known when he left that Treville's life was at risk."

"Still it will be hard on him." Aramis flicked the reins and the horses moved forward.

Athos reloaded his pistols and settled to keep watch. Grimaud might have left the scene but it wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility that he might set up an ambush. Their return to Paris was a lot slower than their breakneck ride to reach Lorraine's camp after learning that Grimaud had taken the King and d'Artagnan. Eventually, and without incident, they reached the outskirts of the city. Soon they were on the approach to the palace. They stopped by the main entrance and Athos corralled a couple of servants.

"Regent Treville is dead. See that his body is taken to the chapel to lie in state."

Their shock was palpable. The King and the Regent gone in one day.

"We must report to the Queen," he said.

"I will stay and supervise," d'Artagnan said. "He shouldn't be left alone."

Athos and Aramis walked side by side through the corridors and up stairs until they reached the Queen's quarters. When the guard on duty announced them they heard her clear voice bidding them enter. The room was full of her women and the King was sitting on the floor playing with his toy soldiers. They both bowed deeply.

"We bring tragic news, Your Majesty. While ensuring the King's safe escape from the Duke's camp Regent Treville was fatally shot."

Athos saw the Queen's knees buckling but it was Aramis who reached her first. His strong arms encircled her waist and he bore the brunt of her weight.

"This can't be happening," she gasped. "First the King and now Treville?"

Aramis helped her over to a settee then stood protectively behind her. She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "He will be given a state funeral. He was a loyal servant of France. You have my deepest condolences, Captain."

"Thank you, Majesty. There is some good news. Lorraine's camp has been abandoned. Apparently the Duke was killed by Grimaud. Gaston has disappeared. I think it is safe to assume that the rebellion is over."

"Thank God." She visibly made the effort to overcome her grief. "Where is Treville's body now?"

"In the chapel. The Musketeers will mount an honor guard with your permission."

"Of course, and I must pay my respects."

"The King is well?" Aramis asked, looking longingly at his son.

"Shaken by his ordeal but unharmed." She turned to look over her shoulder and gave a weak smile. "Porthos brought him back safely to me."

"Where is Porthos?" Athos asked. "We need to tell him about the Regent."

"I sent him to get something to eat."

"Then, if you will give us leave, we will go and find him."

"Do what you must, Captain. And, Athos, thank you all for keeping my son safe."

After bowing they left the room and walked quickly to the kitchens. They found Porthos sitting at a table with a plate of bread, cheese and cold meat in front of him.

"It's about time you got here," Porthos said. "I was startin' to worry." He frowned when he saw their somber expressions. "What's happened?"

Athos pulled out a chair and sat down. "Treville is dead. He was overrun by Grimaud's men and we arrived too late to stop Grimaud from shooting him. His last words concerned the King's safety. He died knowing that he had achieved his goal."

Porthos dropped the hunk of bread he had been holding back onto the plate. "He was wounded when I left him. I wouldn't have gone except for the boy." He swiped angrily at his eyes. "I'll see that bastard Grimaud dead for what he's done."

"His power is broken and there is no-where for him to run. We will trap him like the rat he is and finally have an ending." Athos spoke fiercely, his overwhelming need now to exact justice for all Grimaud's crimes. "For now, though, we have a friend to bury. Then we will hunt Grimaud down even if it takes us to the ends of the earth." He saw the resolve in his friends' eyes and knew that together they would prevail.

The End


	11. Chapter 11

This is set after the end of Death of a Hero.

 **Missing Pieces**

 **Chapter Eleven**

It was late by the time Aramis returned to the garrison from his meeting with the Queen. D'Artagnan and Porthos were nowhere to be seen. No doubt they were still suffering from the after effects of having been buried alive. Once again he was left bereft in the knowledge that his friends had almost died and he hadn't been there to save them. It didn't help knowing that he would also have been caught in the explosion if not for the summons to return to Paris. He felt as if his entire life had become tilted on its axis. In the space of one day Athos had almost been beaten to death, d'Artagnan and Porthos had barely survived an attempt to kill them and he had confessed to the King about sleeping with the Queen. He gave little thought to Feron's death. The Governor had been corrupt and, apparently, in league with Grimaud. He was, in Aramis' opinion, no loss to the world.

He entered the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine from the shelf. He was still cold inside from the King's promise that he would be kept from Anne and his son even after the King's death. After picking up a glass he walked back outside and sat down at the table. It felt like a million years had passed since the four of them used to congregate here. So much had changed and it wasn't for the better. He poured the wine and sat in reflective silence. There had been a point in the day when he had stared death in the face. There had been no reason to disbelieve Louis when he said he would hang yet he had continued to do his duty. It had never crossed his mind to flee. That would have meant leaving the King unguarded, something he would never do.

"Do you want company or would you rather I left you alone?"

He looked up upon hearing Athos' voice. In the dim light the Captain's face was in shadow but he didn't have to see to know that Athos' face was heavily marked by Grimaud's brutal attack. "Join me, my friend. Distract me from my thoughts."

Athos sat opposite him and eyed the wine. Aramis pushed the bottle in his direction and watched as Athos tilted it to his lips. He found that he was unable to read Athos' expression, but sensed a lingering sadness.

"Is everything alright?" Aramis asked.

"Aside from the fact that Gaston escaped and Grimaud has again eluded us, everything is fine."

"Do you think they know about the King?"

"Let us hope not. Did he tell you what ails him?"

"Nothing specific, only that he is dying." He covered a momentary hesitation by taking a drink. "Do you know why he ordered me to accompany him?"

"I'd assumed it was because of your faith. He was on a pilgrimage of sorts to his father's tomb. I can see why he would want a man of God at his side rather than a soldier."

"As did I, until he told me that he knew about me and the Queen."

The force with which the bottle hit the table caused Aramis' glass to shake. "He knows? What did he say?"

"He wanted my confession." Aramis looked down at his hands. "He got his wish."

"You told him?" Athos asked in stark disbelief.

"I confirmed what he already knew." He could still taste the anger he'd felt when throwing his words at the King. _I slept with the loneliest woman in Paris._ He had spoken the truth although that was not why they had committed treason. Unbidden, each had fallen in love with the other and had acted on that love, even knowing the likely consequences.

Athos was leaning forward now, studying his face. "Does he know about the Dauphin?"

Aramis nodded, the words stuck in his dry throat.

"Why aren't you in the Bastille?"

"He threatened to hang me. Then, after Feron's death, he had a change of heart." The King's cruel words had lodged irrevocably in his mind. Yet, they were only the truth. The Dauphin had never been his son; could never be his son. The King was the child's father in all but blood and he ought to be happy that the King doted on the boy instead of shunning him. Still, it was like a knife to the heart, knowing that his son called another man father. "He said I was to keep away from the Queen and the Dauphin. He will arrange things so that I never see them even after his death."

"Short of banishing you from the Court I don't see how he can make good on that threat."

"Perhaps that is what he has in mind."

"Have you sent word to the Queen?"

"I saw her. Athos, I can't remain on the sidelines while she struggles with news of the King's impending death. She is a Spanish Queen who is hated and mistrusted because of the war. How will she maintain the Regency without loyal men by her side?"

"We will keep them both safe."

"Even against Gaston and Grimaud?"

"The people have no love for Gaston either. He has never bothered to endear himself to them. They will not rise up in his support. As for Grimaud…one day I will kill him and the problem will be resolved."

"We go after him?"

"Tomorrow. He is too dangerous to be left at liberty. There is a rumour that the Duke of Lorraine has raised an army. I believe that our quarry will have gone to join him."

"He has a substantial head start."

Athos took another mouthful of wine and his expression, when he lowered the bottle, was hard. "He is wounded and that will slow him down. Sylvie shot him. She saved my life." There was an odd note in Athos' voice.

"She is well?"

"She is unharmed."

There was more to the story, that much Aramis could sense but the finality in Athos' words discouraged him from pursuing it. "That is good to hear. And you, how do you feel?"

"I am fit to fulfill my duty."

It was an unsatisfactory answer and, Aramis was certain, was a long way from the truth. He resolved to keep a very close eye on his friend during their pursuit. "It has been an eventful day," he said. "By rights all three of you should rest tomorrow."

"I will rest when Grimaud is dead."

"He has become an obsession," Aramis said, worry infusing his tone. He had never seen Athos this driven before to destroy another human being. Even when they had faced Rochefort's treachery Athos had maintained a dispassionate façade. This vendetta was unhealthy.

"I am simply doing my duty as the Captain of the Musketeers. Grimaud is a threat to the stability of France."

Aramis sighed. "I can't dispute that. Just remember what you always cautioned d'Artagnan. Head over heart."

Athos inclined his head, a small smile playing around the edges of his lips. "I'm sure you will be there to remind me if I should be so foolish as to forget."

Aramis drained his glass. "We should call it a night, then." He stood and looked enquiringly at Athos.

"I will follow soon. Like you, I have thoughts that need to be examined before I sleep."

At the top of the stairs Aramis turned to look back down into the courtyard. Athos sat where he had left him, staring into the night. Whatever was bothering his brother would remain unsaid. With a rueful shake of his head he turned towards his room. Tomorrow he would confide in Porthos and, together, they would keep Athos safe from his demons.

The End


End file.
